Hawk's Bear To Cross
by Roadstergal
Summary: A followup to my fic Idol's Wild, set after the episode Goodbye, Radar. Slashy implications.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Many thanks for the reviews of my other fic. I appreciate it, and always welcome crit.

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"Are you going to marry it?"

Hawkeye jerked his head up, and his eyes met BJ's. For just a moment, they were confused, distant. They focused, quickly, and a wry smile quirked one side of Hawkeye's mouth. "Nah. I won't marry a bear that's slept with another man."

BJ marked his place in the surgical journal with his finger and sat up slightly. Hawkeye's eyes dropped back down to the bear that was clutched between his hands, and his gaze became unfocused again. BJ coughed slightly. Hawkeye's tossing and turning had kept him up half the night - and BJ had learned to sleep through some rather impressively loud things since landing in Korea. Hawkeye must have been tossing up a storm. "You want to talk about it?" BJ asked, keeping his tone light.

Hawkeye sighed, not looking up. "I'm going to miss him, Beej."

BJ nodded. "We're all going to miss him." That was the simple truth. Radar's cherubic face and dimpled smile were like a breath of fresh State-side air in the madhouse they called a police action. Not to mention his knack for his position; there would likely be a rather painful acclimation period while Klinger tried to figure out how on earth to squeeze his huge feet into Radar's shoes.

Hawkeye leapt to his feet, his face thunderous. "_You're_ going to miss him?" He tossed the bear onto his cot with a bark of unamused laughter. "Yes, you are _all _going to miss him. Right! You'll miss mail delivery and scammed passes and rustling up this or that thing you want. You won't miss _him_, damn you!"

BJ scooted his rear to the edge of his cot with a sigh, giving up the article as a lost cause for the time being. Hawkeye was becoming more and more prone to fits of anger; they ranged from frequent snippy pique to rarer screaming rages. It was rapidly becoming his only outlet, as far as BJ could tell. With all he had seen, BJ could not really blame the man; Hawkeye had been there longer, and had seen far too much casual cruelty and senseless death. But BJ sometimes wondered how far along Hawkeye was towards a genuine Section 8. He cared too much. "Yes," BJ said, in an even tone that he hoped was placating. "We're going to miss all that. We're also going to miss _Radar_."

Hawkeye's stormy face collapsed, the anger departing as quickly as it had come. "Yeah," he said, quietly, his eyes widening slightly. His mouth opened as if he was going to say more, but he sat down on his cot instead.

"You loved that kid, didn't you?" BJ asked, keeping his voice even, testing the water.

"BJ..." Hawkeye said, then licked his lips. "I'm going to tell you something I never told anyone. Except my father. And..." some life returned to his eyes, "you are never going to tell anyone else. Never! Nobody!" Hawkeye punctuated the last words with a sharp hand gesture.

BJ spread his hands. "Scout's honor. Or better yet - person-who-has-confessed-infidelity-to-you honor."

Hawkeye grinned. It did not reach his eyes. "Ahhhh-ha! Yes, I've got you there, don't I?" He pointed at BJ. "Let's both have something we're heartily ashamed of, eh?" He clasped his hands, frowned, then looked down at them. "I loved that kid."

Yes, they had gone over that. BJ did not feel he had a handle on the situation. Or maybe he did, and it was Hawkeye who didn't. "Yes, you said."

"No, Beej!" Hawkeye said, exasperated. "I _loved _that kid."

BJ nodded, then opened his mouth, as if inhaling possibilities. They jumbled together in his mind. A wordless "Aaaaaah..." came out as they started to mesh together, like a picture puzzle of a starscape that had too much plain black space.

Hawkeye looked up at that noise, his eyes narrowing. "Hey, now," he said. "Don't get me wrong, here. I never laid a finger on the kid. Not like that."

"But you wanted to," BJ ventured, trying to read Hawkeye. A little anger. A little shame. A little sadness. It didn't add up to all that was staring at him, though.

Hawkeye sucked in a quick breath through his nose, then puffed it out of his mouth. "I dunno what I wanted, BJ. I just know I wanted... him... somehow. Nothing in this hellhole made me as happy as seeing him smile. Making him blush. Making him frustrated at me. Just getting to him, somehow, anyhow!"

"He's in a better place, now, Hawk." BJ settled back onto his cot, keeping his eyes on Hawkeye.

"I know, and that's what kills me!" Hawkeye stood up and started to pace. He could barely fit a full stride into their small tent, and so ended up practically spinning in circles, gesturing. "The whole time he was here, he could have been killed. Jesus, he was almost killed on an outing! A little fun around here gets you dead, fast! You know," he paused in his cramped pacing, "ever since _that_ happened, I couldn't stop worrying about him. Every time he ran an errand, I wondered if it was _that_ trip that was going to get him. And here!" Hawkeye spread his arms. BJ waited, listening. Something was happening here, and for good or ill, he was not going to be able to stop it. "Like he was ever safe _here_! One shell, one sniper, one half-mad patient who thinks he's still on the front lines, and no more Radar. When he went to Tokyo - you know, I couldn't sleep until Klinger had his first crisis, and called the guy. Then I thought - hell, at least he's in Tokyo. At least he's safe. But then he wasn't _here_, and what good was it that he was safe? And once he was _here_ - well, hell, he wasn't safe again!" Hawkeye dropped his hands again, turning a hopeless look on BJ.

"Did you ever tell him?" BJ asked.

"Tell him?" Hawkeye's voice jumped in pitch, as if BJ had just asked him if he would have eaten one of Radar's rabbits. "_Tell him_? Tell him what? One of the doctors you look up to would like to do a few things that are deemed psychologically unsound - and likely medically unhygienic - with you? Instead of the Pink Pagoda, we're offering the Hawkeye Express?" Hawkeye dropped back onto his cot, shaking his head.

BJ rubbed his chin as he looked at Hawkeye. He was surprised to find that he was not terribly shocked. It all made a bit more sense than it should. As much sense as anything in MASH 4077 did, which was not much. But longing and frustration, not to mention separation - yes, that he understood all too well. "Or just told him that you loved him. You know, the way you tell the nurses. Only actually _meaning_ it." Ah, there was a puzzle piece that fit all too well - Hawkeye did not chase the nurses as much as he used to. Frustration? Part of it, perhaps.

"Oh, yeah," Hawkeye nodded with satirical vigor, "great idea, Beej. Just the lovely surprise to spring on some poor little farmboy."

"Let me ask you something," BJ replied, more loudly. "Did you mean _any_ of that? The saluting, the you're-the-man-now stuff? Or was that just so much posturing?" BJ looked at Hawkeye closely, matching his glare with an even stare. "Just some poor little farmboy? Could you ever love someone like that? Or was it easier to think of him like that, so you had an excuse for not saying anything?"

"Look, BJ," Hawkeye said, just on the calm side of a shout, "stop talking about this like it's all normal! Like I'm some cute thing with blond curls from the next town over who just wants to make a happy man of him! This isn't right, and all of the tender approaches in Hawkeye's Black Book won't make it so!"

BJ shrugged. He might be going to hell for even entertaining the notion, but there still a few things that were frowned upon by the stereotypical Decent American that he had his doubts about. The war. Margaret's reluctance to turn in her childhood friends, socialist ideas or no. And... this. "You never know. Some things that were frowned upon, even by established medicine, became accepted over time."

"You really think so," Hawkeye said, flatly.

"Well," BJ said, having to force his smile slightly, "it's easy to be a little magnanimous from a more conventional state of partnership."

"Yeah." Hawkeye looked down at his hands again. "Hell. Maybe I should have said something. Too late now. It's all over."

"All over?" BJ asked, worried. Sometimes it seemed like Hawkeye had resigned himself to the war. He did not read his hometown paper any more; he did not play the game of naming the first thing to do once he got home, or compare the surgical facilities to the ones at his old job. It was as if the war was all that stretched in front of him when he looked to the future. "This war is going to end, you know. When it does - you're a free man. You could take a little road trip to Iowa, if you like."

Hawkeye reached behind himself, grabbed the teddy bear, and clutched it to his chest. He rested his chin on it as he stared at BJ, his eyes clear and sad. "I can't see it, Beej. Driving up? Seeing the kid in normal clothes, no dogtags, standing on the front porch of a normal house? I can't _see _it. Hell, I can't see myself in normal clothes, in a normal job. All of this - it's insane. Life stateside is sane again, and it's just... completely different. Another world. Another life."

BJ pondered that. He took another puzzle piece and slid it into place. It looked like it belonged. "That bothered you, too, then. It's all too possible, here. If anything can happen... something like that can happen, as well."

"I wasn't just afraid for the kid here because of the shelling and the shooting," Hawkeye said, realization coming to his sad-eyed stare. "I was afraid of what _I _might do."

"Hawkeye." BJ clucked his tongue. "Don't you trust yourself?"

"I guess not," Hawkeye replied, quietly.

"He did, you know." BJ nodded at the bear in Hawkeye's hands. "He trusted you - and in his own naive virginal way, he loved you. You should have seen how he looked at you."

A smile ghosted over Hawkeye's face, then disappeared. "I screwed it up, didn't I."

BJ stood. "Yes, you did." He clapped Hawkeye on the back. "And this doctor prescribes a stiff drink and some sleep. Don't call me in the morning, but - write Radar."

"I'll think about it." Hawkeye lay back on his cot, holding the bear close. "You think he made it OK? We all thought Blake was home free..."

"I told Peggy to call when they met up. Until then, there's nothing you can do."

"Let me know," Hawkeye said, turning on his side and closing his eyes. "I think I'll put off the stiff drink for a bit."

"Whenever you need it." BJ grabbed the blanket from the foot of the cot and tossed it over Hawkeye - fatigues, boots, bear, and all. He walked back to his cot and sat down, pulling out his journal again. The moments of peace were few and far between, after all, and BJ hated to waste them. For a time, yes, there was peace; details of vein sutures laid out in plain black and white, read to the company of a chorus of crickets; muttered dialog of soldiers passing each other and exchanging variations on the same observations about the weather and the stars; and, eventually, the quiet snores of one very tired and heartsick surgeon.


	2. Radar's POV

They still call me Radar, ya know. 

It's probably my fault. I mean, I didn't really answer to Walter after I got home. I'd almost forgot that was my name. It's different here, though. It's not like Radar is something I _have _to do anymore. It took some gettin' used to, it did; I'd wake up in the middle of the night because it was too quiet, strainin' to hear the choppers or mortar fire you'd usually get right after a quiet spell over _there_. But quiet nights here are just quiet all through, and soon I got to sleep through 'em proper. I don't think I got a proper sleep the whole time I was in Korea. But here - well, it ain't just like it's quiet in the normal way. It's people-quiet, too, if ya know what I mean. Well, maybe you don't. If you ain't never been in a crowd of people and had everything they _wanted_ to say yellin' at you almost as loud as they were yellin' out loud, ya wouldn't know. Trust me, though; it's quiet in that way, too. Just Ma, and she don't talk in her mind much anymore, and the animals. They're just the most wonderful things, they are. They think so simple - hungry, tired, comfortable, just good and normal things. It's so easy to make 'em happy.

I think I should be happy, now, too. But that war un-simpled me, I guess. Don't get me wrong - I'm happy a lot. I till the corn and feed the chickens and do all the farm chores, and then tend the rest of the animals, and usually it's dark by then, and I go to bed tired and full of their good feelin'. But now and then, I get in bed and close my eyes, and I don't fall asleep. I just drift, and it seems to me like I can feel the earth spinnin', and I grab the bed so as I don't go flyin' off. That makes me think of Hawkeye, and how he used to drink a bit much now and then, and I panic - if he's not holdin' onto the cot, he'll go flyin' off! It all looks silly in the mornin' when the sun's up, but at night, I swear it makes sense. Funny - I don't worry about Colonel Potter or Hot Lips or BJ or any of the rest flyin' off - just Hawkeye.

I sometimes sit down to write him, but what do I say? It's Radar, and the animals are good. It's Radar, and I want ya to hang on at night, or you'll go flyin' when the earth spins. It's Radar, and I wanna know if you're still alive. But he's gotta be alive or I wouldn't be feelin' him, right?

I hope so. They don't call me Radar for nothin'. I dunno what I'd do if I lost that. So when I lie down and I start to feel the spinnin', I try to think somethin' over to him, with all my might. _Hawkeye, it's Radar. Hang on, wouldja? Hang on and come back home. Please._


End file.
